Nathan entered the chamber with Athena leading confidently at his side, her steps echoing faintly against the stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of molten metal and burning oil, a heat that clung to the skin and made the room feel more like a furnace than a workshop. Sparks occasionally flared across the dim-lit forge, crackling like miniature stars before fading into the gloom.
Ahead, bent over his anvil, was a burly man whose very presence seemed carved from steel itself. He wore a soot-stained tunic that bore the marks of long hours at the forge, his hands hidden within scarred leather gloves blackened by years of labor. His hair was a coarse brown, his eyes of the same earthy shade, though dulled by exhaustion and burn scars. His face was smeared with ash, streaked with the black residue of fire and smoke. In one hand, he gripped a heavy hammer, and with every strike against the glowing metal before him, the room shuddered faintly.
